


Here We Stand

by eternaleponine



Series: From the Mouths of Babes [16]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Foster Care, Graduation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22418893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: As they face the end of high school, Lexa and Clarke are forced to confront the possibility that the life they'd built together might not be as inevitable and everlasting as they thought.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: From the Mouths of Babes [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/626033
Comments: 80
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

"Do you want to come over and help me sort through all of the school catalogs that came this week?" Clarke asked, looking both ways – twice – before pulling out of the school parking lot and into the street. She'd gotten her license at the end of last year, and over the summer her parents had gifted her with her father's old car (he got a new one – the perks of being an adult and surviving a heart attack, she guessed) so she could get herself to and from her job that summer. Now she was Lexa's (and sometimes Luna, but she had swim practice more days than not) ride to and from school most days, which gave them the chance to spend more time together, but more and more lately it felt like Lexa wasn't there, even when she was sitting right next to Clarke. 

"No," Lexa said, staring out the window so all Clarke could see of her was her ear and the angle of her jaw. 

Clarke pressed her lips together. "Do you want to come over and work on homework?"

"No," Lexa said. 

"Do you want to come over at all?" Clarke asked. 

"No." 

_No._ For a second Clarke forgot how to breathe, that single word – so immediate and final, like Lexa hadn't even had to think about it – like a punch to the gut. But maybe...

"Are you even listening?" Clarke asked. 

"Yes," Lexa said, still looking out the window. 

"Oh." Clarke sucked in a breath and let it out slowly as she pulled up to a stop light. Lexa reached for the door handle, unfastening her seat belt as she cracked the door open. 

Clarke reached across her to grab at it and hold it closed. "What are you doing?!" she demanded, her voice cracking on the last word. 

Lexa looked at her, and there was something in her eyes... but then it was gone. Like a flame extinguished, a spark stamped out, and the lights weren't on and no one was home. "I'm going to walk home."

The car behind her honked – the light had turned green – and Clarke leaned over farther, making sure Lexa's door was latched before flipping the driver the bird and stomping on the gas. "Buckle your damn seat belt," Clarke snapped. "You're not walking anywhere." They were miles from home; it would take Lexa an hour or more to get there from here on foot... assuming she got there at all. Assuming she didn't just wander off into the woods and disappear.

Lexa looked like she might refuse, like she might even try to get out of the car while it was in motion, risking broken limbs or worse just to get away from Clarke, but finally she clicked the belt back into place. 

"What the f—" Clarke stopped herself. Yelling wasn't going to help. Fighting wasn't going to fix anything. But she was tired of this, tired of Lexa pushing her away in tiny, subtle ways – not that this had been particularly subtle, but it was a pattern that had been developing over the course of the last several months, and nothing Clarke did seemed to make it any better. She was starting to think maybe Lexa had finally grown tired of her, and if that was the case...

If that was the case, Clarke would have to be okay with it. Maybe they would even find a way to still be friends. But she wasn't going to just let it happen. She wasn't going to let her slip quietly away. If they were over, Lexa was going to have to woman up and say it.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Lexa's face turned away, but Clarke wasn't looking anyway. She kept her eyes on the road, pulling into her driveway. She expected Lexa to be up and out the door before she even turned the car off, but she stayed where she was, her chest rising and falling too fast, her breathing audible in the sudden quiet.

"Talk to me," Clarke whispered, reaching across the space between them but stopping short of touching Lexa because she didn't know how she'd react. "Please."

* * *

It was stupid. _She_ was stupid. Stupid and dramatic, and if Luna or Anya ever heard about what she'd done, or tried to do, they would probably dislocate both eyeballs rolling them so hard at the soap opera gesture. 

But being in a car with Clarke – being anywhere with Clarke that put them in close, inescapable proximity – when all Clarke wanted to talk about was the future that was going to tear them apart was excruciating, and Lexa had just wanted to escape the pain before it ate her alive like a cancer. 

She should have known she wouldn't get away with it. She wasn't quick enough, wasn't determined enough, to just rip the Band-Aid off and...

Lexa kept her face turned away from Clarke the rest of the way home, not wanting her to see the tears that welled up and beaded in her lashes, finally spilling down her cheeks in slow but steady streams. When the car stopped, it filled with the sound of Lexa's hitching breath, and then...

"Talk to me." Clarke reached for her but didn't touch her, and Lexa's skin burned where she could feel the place where Clarke's fingers weren't. 

Lexa shook her head, slowly, then harder. _I can't,_ she thought. _I can't. I can't do this. I don't want to do this._

"Please."

A sob rose up and broke through, and Lexa fell apart into Clarke's arms, the gear shift digging into her ribs. 

"Oh," Clarke said again, her breath brushing against Lexa's ear as she tried to pull her close, closer than seat belts and car seats would allow. She pushed back a strand of Lexa's hair, tucking it behind her ear, her touch lingering on Lexa's cheek, and Lexa turned into it, catching her hand, squeezing her fingers a little too hard. She tipped her face up and found Clarke's lips, and she meant to be gentle – she always meant to be gentle because she was afraid of being too much – but she wasn't, not this time, and Clarke pulled back, stealing the air from Lexa's lungs in the process, choking off the next sob so it stayed lodged in Lexa's throat.

Clarke pressed her fingers to her lips and they came away stained with blood, just a drop, but enough to make her eyes widen. "Maybe we should—" She stopped to touch her lip again, balling her fingers into a fist, maybe in anger but Lexa thought more likely to hide the evidence. 

"I'm sorry," Lexa whispered. "Clarke..."

"Maybe we should go inside," Clarke finished. "We really need to talk."

* * *

Lexa had never hurt her before. Never once. Even this was an accident – Clarke was sure of that – but along with Lexa's attempt to run away from her and now the sudden burst of tears when Lexa hardly ever cried... She knew something was wrong, and the only way to figure out what was to talk about it. 

_The only way out is through._

Clarke shivered. She didn't _want_ out. They weren't the perfect couple that a lot of people thought they were, but they came close most of the time... didn't they? 

She unbuckled herself and pushed open her door, climbing out and grabbing her backpack from the back seat. Lexa hadn't moved, so Clarke went around to her side and opened her door, offering her non-bloodied hand. 

Lexa looked at it, then up at Clarke, who tried to force a smile even as she probed the place where her lip had been split by the force of Lexa's mouth crashing into hers with her tongue. Slowly, like Clarke might yank it back like Lucy and Charlie Brown and the football, Lexa reached out and took it, letting herself be pulled from the car and led inside. 

Normally they would have stopped in the kitchen for a snack, but today Clarke led her straight up to her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them out of habit, because her parents' schedules weren't always predictable and she didn't want to risk them being walked in on. Not that things were likely to get heated... at least not that way. 

Clarke sat on her bed and patted the place beside her, Lexa's place, but Lexa didn't sit. She paced like a caged animal, like Clarke had trapped her and she was plotting her escape. Was that how she felt? They'd been together for so long, and Clarke had thought everything was good. Everything was great. She hadn't stopped to question whether Lexa still felt the same way. 

Until now. 

"Lexa," she said. "What's going on?"

Lexa stopped long enough to look at her and shake her head, then kept pacing, and it was starting to drive Clarke crazy. So the next time Lexa turned her back on Clarke, Clarke got up and planted herself in Lexa's path. When she turned around again, her choices were either to stop or run Clarke over. And maybe cornering her wasn't the best idea, because who knew what her childhood programming would tell her to do in that situation, but it didn't feel like Clarke had another choice. Not if she wanted answers. 

Lexa's eyes flicked to either side, assessing her escape routes, trying to decide whether to zig or zag to get around Clarke, which way would get her to the door faster, or maybe looking for the closest weapon, and Clarke wasn't used to thinking of Lexa as dangerous but she knew she was. She could be. She just never had been. Not to Clarke. 

"Lexa," she said again, taking a chance by taking a step closer. Lexa stepped back, but her shoulders hit the wall because there was nowhere for her to go. Her breath hitched like she might start crying again, and Clarke reached up to touch her clenched jaw, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, drawing her down to even the slight difference in their heights, and kissed her. 

She poured everything into that kiss: all her love and all her doubt, all the years they'd spent together and all her hope for the years to come. It was soft and sweet, tender and gentle, everything Lexa was with her that she rarely allowed herself to be with anyone else, mirrored back to her by Clarke to remind her of who she was. Who _they_ were. To remind her that together they were more than the sum of their parts. 

For a second, or maybe not even, for the space of a single aching heartbeat, there was nothing. And then Lexa kissed her back, her arms coming up to encircle Clarke, pulling her in and crushing their bodies against each other so there wasn't even the space of a breath between them. 

And maybe Clarke had been right to lock the door after all.

They needed to talk, and this wasn't talking, but sometimes it was easier to say the things you needed to say without words... or maybe neither of them was ready to face the conversation they needed to have. 

Clothing came off and they tumbled into bed, and Lexa pressed Clarke beneath her. And if fingers dug a little too hard or arms held a little too tight, it was offset by the sweetness of Lexa's lips and tongue, infinitely gentle as if in apology for having drawn blood earlier. Tears filled Clarke's eyes and soaked into the hair at her temples, because she didn't want to lose this. Not today. Not ever. 

Who else would ever know her this well? Who else could ever so thoroughly undo her with a look, a word, a touch? She couldn't imagine surrendering like this to anyone but Lexa, and she didn't want to.

"Clarke," Lexa breathed, against her throat and breasts and belly and lower, her name over and over again as if... Clarke didn't know as if what, and she lost the ability to think or care at all as she became less of a person and more of a vessel for sensation, and maybe that was why Lexa kept saying her name, to remind her who she was even as she was completely undone, shattered and remade by Lexa's tongue between her legs.

* * *

"Clarke," Lexa breathed again, stretching herself out beside her, gathering her into her arms. She nuzzled against Clarke's cheek and temples and the dampness there, and she hadn't meant to make her cry, hadn't even known she was crying, and her own eyes filled and spilled all over again.

Clarke tipped up her face to kiss the tears away, and Lexa let her, tasting the salt of them on her lips as they kissed, Clarke's hand sliding down between their bodies, coaxing gasps instead of sobs as her fingers circled and dipped, and Lexa let her legs fall open, giving herself to Clarke, giving in and letting herself feel it, really feel it, because maybe this would be the last time and she didn't want to have any regrets.

Clarke's fingers slipped inside of her as she kissed her way down, and Lexa's back arched, her hips rolling, wanting more, wanting everything, her skin alive, electric, and there was hardly any build-up, just a tidal wave crashing and if not for Clarke she would have been gone, swept out to sea with no hope of return. But Clarke anchored her, and Lexa clung, and the moment passed, leaving Lexa shuddering in its wake.

"Shh," Clarke whispered into her ear, laying half on top of her with her head pillowed on Lexa's chest. "You're okay." _We're okay,_ Lexa waited for her to add, but she didn't.

Because they weren't, were they? 

That was why they were here.

Lexa slid her fingers into Clarke's hair, combing through the silky strands and letting her hands rest gently on her back, one fingertip idly tracing her spine, making her shiver, but it was Lexa who sighed, drawing the covers up over them to keep them warm as the dam in her throat finally broke.

"I'm not like you," she said, her lips brushing Clarke's forehead, her breath ruffling her hair. "I didn't grow up being told I could be anything, do anything. I wasn't taught how to dream... only how to prepare for the inevitable end. There was never going to be a happily ever after. So you'd think this would be easy."

* * *

Clarke jerked back, peeling herself away from Lexa to meet her eyes, her own wide with fear, her lips already beginning to shape a plea, but Lexa pressed a finger to them gently, stopping her. 

"Not this," she said. "Not us. Not yet."

Clarke twisted away from the restraining touch. "Not _yet_?" she demanded. "What do you mean, not _yet_?"

"Please," Lexa said. "Let me finish. If I don't say this now..." She shook her head.

Clarke fingers clenched in the sheets, except it wasn't the sheets, it was Lexa's skin, her nails carving crescents into tender flesh, and Lexa winced and Clarke forced herself to relax her hands, even as the rest of her remained on high alert. 

"I'm scared, Clarke," Lexa said. "I'm so fucking scared, all the fucking time." But what she was scared of remained a mystery, because when she opened her mouth again no words came out, and maybe Clarke had ruined it with her outburst, which meant she had to fix it... but how?

"I'm scared too," she said finally, because she was. Terrified. The last time she'd been this scared... She threaded her leg between Lexa's, locking their bodies together from the waist down like that would help keep her here even if she tried to disappear again. 

Not that it had been her choice. Not that her father's heart attack had been his choice, either. 

They'd both come back, but if Lexa left again, if this time it was her choice...

"What do you have to be scared of?" Lexa asked, and the way she said it set Clarke's teeth on edge, but she breathed out her irritation because it wasn't productive. She didn't want to fight. She wanted Lexa back. So she told the truth: 

"I'm afraid of losing you," Clarke said. "Sometimes I feel like you're already gone."

* * *

And here Lexa had thought she'd been doing a good job of hiding it, of faking that everything was okay. 

She should have known better. This was Clarke, after all, who knew every inch of her skin and every beat of her heart, because it was her own heart, given to Lexa for safekeeping even before either of them was conscious of the exchange. 

"I'm not," Lexa said, pressing her hand over Clarke's heart – her own heart – and felt it pounding against her palm. "I just..." She bit her lip until the taste of salt and iron and copper filled her mouth, and at least now they were even, at least they were the same for another moment or two... "I don't know what I want to be when I grow up," she admitted, "because I never expected I would."

Clarke's eyebrows drew together in a frown. Because it didn't make sense to her. Of course it didn't make sense. It was completely antithetical to everything she'd ever been taught, everything she'd ever known. She knew Lexa's history, but she had no idea how hard it was to shake half a lifetime of conditioning. As far as she was concerned, the half of Lexa's life that mattered was the half she'd spent in Clarke's world. 

Lexa wished that could be the case. Wished it more than anything. 

But it wasn't. 

"I don't know how to grow up," she said. "I don't know how to pick a college or choose a major or write an essay that gets to the core of who I am in 500 words or less. I don't know how to take a test that measures how worthy I am of higher education. This was all supposed to have crumbled by the time I was old enough for it to matter. How do you plan for a future you never expected to have?"

* * *

Clarke let out a breath, almost a laugh, because this... this was easy. She'd thought—

Never mind what she'd thought. 

"It's okay," she said. "All of that is just details. We'll figure it out. There are books that explain the process, give you timelines, help you—"

But Lexa was shaking her head. "See? This is one of the reasons I didn't say anything. I knew you wouldn't understand. You'd just dive in and try to fix it, fix _me_... when you used to be the only person who didn't see me as broken." 

The words crashed into Clarke, stalling her train of thought before it could begin to pick up steam. "You're not broken!" she said. "You just—" She stopped herself, because anything she said would just prove Lexa's point. "You're right," she said. "I don't understand. But I can try." She put her hand over Lexa's where it was still pressed to her chest. "Let me try."

Lexa shook her head, and Clarke's heart plummeted. 

Lexa had already given up.

Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

Lexa's eyes widened. "What? No!" But then she looked away, and Clarke's heart sank even further. "Sometimes I think it would be better, easier, but—"

Clarke jerked away. She couldn't do this. She'd thought she could, but she couldn't. She couldn't lay here, naked and vulnerable, and listen to Lexa tell her why she wasn't breaking up with her even though it would be better if she did. She'd thought she needed to hear the words, but actions spoke louder, isn't that what they said? And Lexa was making herself very clear. She had been for a long time. Clarke had just been too blind – willfully so – to see it. What she'd thought was them mending had actually been Lexa saying goodbye, and—

"Clarke. _Clarke._ " Lexa's long fingers caught her wrist before she could escape the tangle of blankets, and Clarke wanted to yank away, but there was something in Lexa's voice that stilled her, made her stop fighting, made her look. "Please," she said. "Listen. I need you to listen." 

Clarke didn't want to listen. She wanted to shove her fingers in her ears and say, 'LA LA LA' so she couldn't hear whatever Lexa was about to say. But she wasn't a child. She was (almost) an adult, and she needed to face this – whatever it was – head on.

Lexa let go of her wrist, but her fingers lingered on the back of Clarke's hand, turning it over, her thumb rubbing gently over her pulse. "I don't know how to believe in forever," she said, her eyes on Clarke's palm. "I want to. Believe me, I want to. But it goes against everything I was ever taught. And I know to you that was years ago, ancient history, and sometimes it is for me, too. But sometimes it's like it was yesterday." She looked up, meeting Clarke's eyes. "Here, now, in the little cocoon we've built... here, I can remember the past is the past. But I won't have that – this – much longer. Everything is ending, and what happens then? You go to college and I... I don't know what I do. And I'm so, so scared that you're going to go out into the world and meet someone and realize it doesn't have to be this hard. That... that there are people who don't carry all this baggage. That you only love me because... because you don't know any better. You don't have any choice. So sometimes I think it would be easier to just... let you go now so I don't have to later. Because to me, the ending feels inevitable."

Clarke's eyes filled with tears, and she lifted Lexa's hand with her own to wipe them away. "Okay," she said softly, not because it was – not yet – but because now she knew. It was out in the open, which meant they could see what they were up against, pick it apart and make a plan. They could figure it out. Together. But not today. Today there was only one thing Clarke wanted – needed – to say, only one thing she needed Lexa to hear. "Okay," she said again. "But Lexa? I _do_ believe in forever. And it's you. It's always been you, and it always will be."

* * *

Lexa collapsed into her bed, realizing only after she was already down that she was on top of the covers and therefore couldn't pull them over herself and hide. Not that there was any hiding from anyone or anything in this house; if Luna was home it was almost impossible to be more than a few feet away from her without having to deal with Miss Becca, or the littles, or Murphy, or some unholy combination of the three. 

She had homework to do – they never had gotten around to working on it at Clarke's – but she felt wrung out and incapable of anything that required any level of concentration... and what did it matter, anyway? Despite Clarke's efforts at reassurance, she still couldn't wrap her head around the possibility of college, or anything at all, coming after. Her imagination got to graduation and came to a screeching halt. 

Her eyes burned like she was going to cry – _again_ \- but no tears came. Her head just pounded harder, not quite the same rhythm as the pounding of her heart, and her lungs felt scraped raw and like drawing air in and pushing it out again was too much effort. 

A bottle of water appeared in her line of vision. "Drink," Luna said. 

Lexa closed her eyes. If she couldn't see it, it wasn't there. If she just ignored it...

The hard plastic knocked against her forehead. "Drink," Luna said again. 

_Let it go,_ Lexa told herself. _She's doing it to get a reaction. If you give it to her, you're playing on her terms, not your own._

But as long as the bottle dangled in front of her face, she knew Luna was looming over her, and it was impossible to ignore, and if Luna hit her with it again, so help her...

The bottle shifted, just a fraction of an inch, and maybe Luna was just adjusting her grip, maybe it had slipped, but it didn't matter. Lexa didn't care. She reached up and back, wrapping her arm around Luna's leg, then tossed over, yanking it out from under her. Luna fell, and Lexa was on top of her in an instant, pinning her to the floor between their beds, her hands on her throat and—

She let go, scrambling back, staring at her hands like they'd developed a mind of their own, like they'd betrayed her, and—

"It's okay," Luna said, taking them and pressing them together between her palms. "Lexa, it's—"

Lexa shook her head. "It's not," she said. "It's not okay. It's not going to _be_ okay." She pulled her hands away from Luna and sat on them, because she couldn't trust them. She couldn't trust herself. She could try to justify it all she wanted: Luna should have known better, Luna shouldn't have hit her with the bottle (even though it might very well have been an accident), but the truth was her reaction was wildly disproportionate to the offense. She could have seriously injured Luna, could have _killed_ her, because she'd shown concern for Lexa's well-being when Lexa didn't want to be cared for. Or about. 

"This is who I am," Lexa said. "I fooled them. Fooled them all, even – especially – Clarke, but this is who I'll always be." Part feral child, part rabid animal, entirely unsafe to be around. "They never should have let me back in. I held a knife on Mr. Jake when I was ten years old. They should have known then and sent me away. I should be locked up with—"

"Are you done?" Luna asked, her dark eyes almost black in the dim light of the room. "Because pity parties are boring, and instead of feeling sorry for yourself, maybe you should consider apologizing to me. You _did_ just try to choke me out."

The spiral of Lexa's thoughts halted, and her eyes burned again. It was almost impossible to force words past the lump in her throat, but after several false starts she finally managed to swallow enough of it to croak, "I'm sorry." She reached a shaking hand toward Luna, but stopped short of touching her. "I never want to hurt you."

Luna met her halfway, lacing their fingers together. "I know," she said. "I'm okay." She waited for Lexa to meet her eyes. "But you owe me an explanation. Tell me what's going on." 

Lexa shook her head. Not because she didn't want Luna to know, but because she didn't want to have to say everything she'd already said again, feel everything she'd felt, and be told – again – that she was wrong to feel that way. Not that Clarke had said that. She'd understood, or tried to, but how could she really? 

That was why, in the end, they wouldn't work. No matter how hard Clarke believed. 

A single tear slid down Lexa's cheek, and it felt like the last moisture left in her body dripping away. Luna reached out and brushed the trembling drop from her chin, then pressed the water bottle into her hands. "Drink," she said gently. "It will help. I promise."

Lexa drank. The bottle was only about half full, but once she started she couldn't stop, and when it was empty Luna got up and refilled it and gave it back to her, settling down next to Lexa with an arm around her, her fingers twining into the loose strands of Lexa's hair. Lexa let her head drop onto Luna's shoulder and closed her eyes. 

"That's not who you are," Luna said. " _That_ is who you are." 

Lexa opened her eyes, and followed Luna's finger, which pointed to the mural of the beach she and Clarke – mostly Clarke – had painted for Luna before she moved in. "That's Clarke," she said dully. "Not me."

"It was your idea," Luna said. 

Was it? Lexa didn't remember. Maybe it had been, but it was Clarke who'd turned it into a reality. 

" _This_ is who you are," Luna said, pulling up a picture on her phone of Lexa on the beach in Hawaii, a flower tucked behind her ear. She scrolled through, bringing up a picture of a sign Lexa had made to cheer Luna on at one of her meets, and one of her at an event they'd held at the place where Lexa volunteered, and where she'd worked over the summer. Luna pointed to a picture of Lexa and Anya that hung above Lexa's bed, part of an ever-growing collage of photos of her friends and family. There was one of her at the grill with Mr. Jake, laughing at some dumb joke he'd made, and making Christmas cookies with Clarke's family, and making a countdown to Christmas paper chain at the kitchen table with some of the littles... 

"You're not fooling anyone," Luna said, "because all of this is real. This is who you are. Who you _really_ are, not who they wanted you to be."

"But that's part of me too," Lexa said. "Look what just—"

"Would you ever do that to Clarke?" Luna asked. 

"No!" Lexa said, horrified at the thought. She would never hurt Clarke, never lay a hand on her. Never. 

"Miss Becca? Anya? Murphy?" Luna snorted. "Okay, maybe Murphy. But only if he really deserved it." She looked at Lexa. "You did it to me because you knew I could take it. Because we're cut from the same cloth. Maybe you went too far, but you stopped. As soon as you realized, you stopped. And I'm okay. So why aren't you?"

Lexa sighed. "I'm scared," she said, and it wasn't any easier to admit the second time around, but at least Luna didn't try to interrupt. She didn't try to argue or convince Lexa it would all be easy to fix, just ticking off boxes on a list. She just listened, taking it all in, quiet until the flow of words finally wound down, and then for a little while after that.

"You know you might, too," Luna said. 

"Might what?" Lexa asked.

"Meet someone." Luna shrugged when Lexa lifted her head to stare at her like she'd lost her mind. "You're so convinced Clarke is the only one who could ever love you, because she knows all your secrets and doesn't care. But you could go to college anywhere and become anyone. You don't have to be—"

"I don't _want_ to become anyone," Lexa said. "I want to be _me_." The trouble was, she didn't know who that was. She was Clarke's girlfriend, Luna and Anya's sister, Miss Becca's daughter... but when all of the scaffolding she'd built around herself fell away, who was she? If she erased everyone else from the equation, stopped defining herself in relation to others... was she anyone at all?

"Is that what you're going to do?" Lexa asked, the words coming out as much accusation as question. Luna had almost said as much, back in Hawaii. About how she wished she could just go somewhere and have a blank state, the chance to be anyone she wanted... anyone other than who she was. "Just... erase all this? Start over? Because I can think of eight reasons why that won't be as easy as you want it to be." 

Luna looked at her sharply, her hand going instinctively to her left shoulder. There was anger in her eyes, hurt, betrayal... but it all flickered out and she sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said. "But I don't want this—" she gripped her shoulder, her fingertips not quite reaching the line of scars currently hidden underneath a layer of material, "—to define me, or to dictate the rest of my life. If I do... they win. And wasn't the whole point of telling the lawyers what they wanted to know to finally escape that?"

"I just wanted to come home," Lexa said. "I never thought beyond that."

But soon home wouldn't be home anymore. Anya was already gone, although she wasn't too far away, and Luna and Clarke would be leaving, growing up, moving on, and there was nothing Lexa could do to stop them, and she knew she shouldn't try. 

Which meant she had to do the same, no matter how scary and painful it was.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke didn't sleep much that night. Her conversation with Lexa played over and over in her head, and she obsessed over every word, wondering if there was something else she could have said, something more or better that would have convinced Lexa that everything would be okay, including – especially – them. 

Because she loved Lexa. She could meet a hundred girls, a thousand – or boys, she guessed, some of them were okay too – and no one would ever compare to Lexa. It didn't matter how smart they were, how brave, who beautiful... Lexa would always have her heart. She'd given it to her long ago – maybe longer ago than she'd even realized – and there were not take-backs.

They just had to get through this. 

She stayed up late, poring over college catalogs and the books her parents had gotten her about preparing for college, trying to make a plan, a step-by-step guide to getting Lexa from point A to point B, with point A being where she was now and point B being college. Probably. Unless that wasn't what she wanted, but what else was there? As far as Clarke was concerned, as far as she'd ever been taught, you finished high school and went to college, and then maybe more college, or maybe you got a job, and then you found your person and you got married and got a house and started a family and—

And she was probably getting ahead of herself. 

But that was the dream, wasn't it? The quintessential American dream. And even with everything that had happened – not really to her, but to Lexa, and Clarke dealt with the aftershocks every time there was a seismic shift in Lexa's life – that dream had never really changed for Clarke. Why should it? She had her person, and wasn't that the hardest part? Everything else was just details.

In the morning she poured herself a cup of coffee, and neither of her parents argued with her about it. It wasn't going to stunt her growth – she was pretty sure she was done growing, at least upwards – and she knew, because the mirror didn't lie, that her lack of sleep was written all over her face. 

"Everything okay?" Dad asked. 

Clarke forced a smile. "It will be," she said. "Just a little stressed. Senior year stuff."

Her mom arched an eyebrow, but for once she didn't say anything. Maybe she knew it wasn't really about Clarke, who had been keeping on top of everything since early the year before, dotting all her i's and crossing her t's, not wanting to take a chance on missing a step and missing an opportunity as a result. 

"If there's anything we can do, let us know," Dad said, ruffling her hair as he passed to refill his own cup. Clarke nudged him with her shoulder, and he smiled and reached to do it again, but she ducked away, going to the other side of the counter where she was out of reach. 

She ate a bowl of cereal to balance out the coffee (and keep it from turning her stomach into an acidic mess) and grabbed her lunch – packed the night before so she couldn't forget even if she was running late. "Bye," she said, shrugging on a light jacket. "See you later." 

"Later, gator," her dad said. 

"Have a good day," her mom added as Clarke slipped out the door. 

Lexa was already waiting for her, leaned against the passenger's side door. Clarke pushed the button to unlock the car, and Lexa slumped into her seat. 

"No Luna?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa shook her head. She didn't look like she'd gotten any more sleep than Clarke had, and maybe less. "Swim practice." 

"Ugh," Clarke said. "Reason number 987 why I'm not an athlete."

Lexa's lips quirked, almost smiling. "What are the first 986?" she asked. 

Clarke smiled back, reaching across the space between them, grateful when Lexa moved to meet her hand halfway, and then leaned in for a soft, chaste kiss as their fingers tangled together. "Good morning," Clarke said.

"Morning, I'll give you," Lexa said, but her eyes were brighter and her shoulders had relaxed back, no longer bunched up around her ears. "Good... I might need a little more convincing." 

Clarke's eyes flicked to the clock on the radio display. They still had plenty of time... but making out in the driveway before seven a.m. was probably not something they wanted to get caught doing. Probably.

_So we don't get caught,_ Clarke thought, but that's where it ended, because her mom came out a minute later, waving to them as she got into her own car. Clarke sighed, her forehead resting on Lexa's shoulder. 

Lexa laughed, a soft exhale, and pressed her lips to the top of Clarke's head. "I guess we should go," she said. 

"I guess we should." Clarke sat up, twisting the key in the ignition and putting the car in reverse, waiting for her mother to pull out before she took her foot off the brake. 

They were halfway to school before either of them spoke again. The radio was on, but neither of them sang along, even when they knew the song. "Do you have anything after school today?" Lexa asked. 

"I don't think so," Clarke said. "Why?"

Lexa glanced at her, then away, staring out the window. "I was thinking maybe we could look at some of those college catalogs."

Clarke's eyes flicked to Lexa, then back to the road, and she had to restrain herself from doing a little dance in her seat. "Yeah," she said. "Okay. That sounds like a plan."

Lexa looked at her again, and this time she didn't look away. "It's not," she said. "But it's a start."

* * *

Slowly, they put together a plan. They talked about the things that Lexa liked to do, and how they might be turned into a future career. At first it felt like there was nothing, that despite the fact that she did well in school there was nothing she was really good at, nothing that mattered to her beyond Clarke and her family. Clarke finally reminded her of how she'd continued to go to volunteer even after her required hours were done, and maybe she might be interested in working somewhere like that? Lexa had resisted, because how could she help anyone with their problems when she was such a mess herself, but Clarke pointed out that that was the whole point of going to college: they would teach her how. 

And maybe in learning how to help other people with the things they were going through, Lexa might finally figure out how to work through her own shit... or at least around it.

She talked to the women who worked at the center where she volunteered about how they'd gotten into the field, and the director offered to write her a letter of recommendation when she was ready. Lexa nodded and thanked her, a little shaken because she hadn't expected anyone to offer to go out on a limb for her in any way. 

She took the SAT and the ACT and when the results came ack her guidance counselor told her with her grades and those scores she could go anywhere she wanted. The trouble was she didn't want to go anywhere. Not that she wanted to stay in high school; it's charm had long since worn off (if it had ever had any) but she couldn't imagine life anywhere else.

But she had to. Because whether she liked it or not, the end of the year was getting closer and closer by the day. 

They looked at different schools and their programs and made lists of where they planned to apply, and then they wrote and rewrote and re-rewrote essays, trying to make themselves stand out in just a few hundred words to catch the attention of whatever poor unfortunate soul had to read them. 

"Probably an intern," Luna said, "who doesn't get paid enough." Her list of schools had been ranked by the scholarship the school was offering (because they were making offers even before she applied, based on the records she set in the pool and her performance that had taken the school team all the way to States the year before), then by the quality of the swimming program and school, then by the school's proximity to the beach. 

"Do you think anyone actually reads them at all?" Lexa asked. "What if I just wrote the word 'fuck' 300 times? Do you think they would notice?"

"Yes," Clarke said. "They may not read every word of every essay, but they would definitely notice _that_."

"Isn't that the whole point? To get noticed?" Lexa grinned, but it crumbled in the face of Clarke's scowl. "I'm not actually going to do it," she said. "Don't worry."

Clarke nodded, and went back to typing... and backspacing, and typing again. 

The holidays were a blur, and when they went back to school it was straight into midterms and looming application deadlines, and then the long, painful wait to find out whether or not they were good enough to be handed the keys to the future they dreamed of.

When they'd been picking schools to apply to, they'd thought that with Lexa going into social work (most likely) and Clarke going into psychology, they might be able to find a school that worked for both of them, and there had been a few schools they'd both applied to. But when acceptance letters and financial aid offers came in, Lexa's hope started to crumble.

For Clarke money wasn't a consideration; her parents had been saving since before she was born. But Lexa was determined not to take a cent from Miss Becca if she didn't have to, and also not to end up drowning in debt by the time she reached graduation, and that limited her choices even though she'd gotten accepted by every school she'd applied to.

"You have to do what's best for you," Anya told her, when she'd shown up on her doorstep with a stack of letters and shoved them into her hands. 

"I don't know what that is," Lexa said. "How am I supposed to know what that is?"

Because what was best for her future career wasn't necessarily best for her bank account, and vice versa, and even if she found a way to balance those, it didn't mean it was what was best for her on a personal level. 

"This one is offering me a full scholarship," Lexa said, "and their program is pretty good but not one of the top programs, but it would mean moving halfway across the country, and it's not near any of the places Clarke applied." 

"You can't make your decision based on Clarke," Anya said. "I know it's hard to imagine being away from her, but—"

"It's not hard," Lexa said, "it's impossible."

Anya sighed. "I know it feels that way, but it's not. People do long distance relationships all the time, and there will be school breaks and summer vacations, and there's these wonderful things called telephones that – and I know this may shock you to learn – but they can actually be used to _talk_ to people. So you can hear their voice and they can hear yours."

Lexa bit her lip, trying not to smile. "Sounds fake, but okay," she said. "I just... I can handle being away from her if I have to," she said. "But not that far. Not... I want to be able to get in the car and get to her in a few hours if I want to... or need to."

Anya screwed up her face, looking like she wanted to argue, but finally she just sighed again. "That shouldn't be your first priority," she said, "but I guess that's reasonable." She flipped through the letters. "Has Clarke decided where she's going?"

"She keeps going back and forth between two," Lexa said. "One I applied to. One I didn't. But the one I applied to... there's no way I can afford it. And their social work program isn't... it kind of doesn't exist. It's more like a minor than a major." 

"So not the best option for you," Anya said. 

"No," Lexa said, biting her lip. She hadn't told Clarke yet, but she'd pretty much already eliminated it from consideration. 

"I'm sorry, kid," Anya said, squeezing her shoulder. "What has Miss Becca said about all of it?"

Lexa shrugged. "I haven't talked to her about it much. It's my future, my decision to make."

Again, Anya made a face, but she didn't force the issue. "Let's see if we can narrow it down," she said, and they began to sort through, finally getting it down to Lexa's top three choices. Her stomach squirmed as she stuck them into a folder, those who hadn't made the cut folded back into their envelopes. 

Anya hugged her tight when it was time for her to leave. "It'll be okay," she said. "Whatever you decide, it'll be okay."

Lexa nodded like she agreed. "Thanks for your help," she said. 

"What are big sisters for?" Anya asked. She waved as Lexa got back into her car, which was an early birthday-and-graduation gift from Miss Becca. Her mother claimed was probably one of the most selfish gifts she'd ever given because it meant she didn't have to drive Lexa around (although Clarke did most of that these days) and that she could send her on errands when she needed to. 

She drove home, parking in her own driveway but immediately headed across the street to the Griffins'. She didn't knock, just went straight in, which still felt weird but Mr. Jake always looked put out when he opened the door for her, having told her more than once (more than a dozen times, really) that she was family, this was her home, too, and she could come and go as she pleased. Lexa wasn't sure Dr. Abby was quite so enthusiastic about it, but she never argued with him about it. 

"Just me," Lexa called.

"She's up in her room," Mr. Jake called back from the kitchen. "I'm making the dough for pizza. Should be ready in about an hour." 

"We'll be down," Lexa promised, and went upstairs.

* * *

Clarke was sprawled on her bed, her laptop propped on her knees as she scrolled through the websites of the two schools she was trying to choose between. Both had their plusses and minuses, and she was having a hard time deciding which list of pros and cons outweighed the other. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and then her doorknob twisted and Lexa poked her head in, hesitating like she wasn't sure she would be welcome, or like she thought she might be interrupting. 

Clarke set her laptop aside immediately, holding out her arms, and in a few quick steps Lexa was across the room, pressing her nose into the curve of Clarke's neck and the rest of her against her body, twining around her in an embrace too clingy to be romantic.

"Hey," Clarke whispered, combing her fingers through Lexa's hair. "Everything all right?"

"No," Lexa said, but she didn't sound upset, only... resigned. 

It wasn't hard to guess why, but she asked anyway.

Clarke shifted, rolling onto her side so she could look Lexa in the face. "What's wrong?"

"We're not going to be together," Lexa said. "For the next four years. Not like we are now."

"Oh," Clarke said. "Yeah." She'd been bracing herself for this moment since she'd first told Lexa the two schools she was deciding between, because even though Lexa had tried to hide it, it had still been there in her eyes. Clarke rested her forehead against Lexa's, the tips of their noses brushing. "We'll be okay, though," she said. She wanted it to be true. She hoped it would be true. "We'll figure it out." 

God, she hoped she wasn't lying.

* * *

The day of graduation dawned sunny and clear and thankfully not too hot, because in their infinite wisdom, the school had decided that the ceremony should be held outdoors.

"Because why miss out on one final opportunity to torture your students by making them sit out in the sun swathed in navy blue polyester?" Lexa grumbled. "Why do we have to do this again?"

"Because it's important to Mom," Luna said. "She even got a babysitter."

Lexa sighed. "I guess that's something," she said. "At least we don't have to worry about one of the little gremlins making a scene." 

"Murphy wouldn't have been invited anyway," Luna said, flashing a grin. 

Lexa forced a smile in return and smoothed down the dress she'd picked out – or, more accurately, the dress Clarke had picked out for her – to wear underneath her gown. Luna had already helped braid her hair, since it was neater when someone who could see what they were doing did it... not that it was likely to stay that way, with the whole stupid mortarboard situation. "Where are my cords?" she asked. 

"On the hanger with your gown," Luna said. "Exactly where you put them last night."

"Right," Lexa said. "Are you _sure_ \--"

"Yes," Luna said. "It's happening whether you're there or not, and not everything is about you." She stuck out her tongue, and Lexa tried to grab it, but Luna swatted her hand away. "Go annoy your girlfriend, will you? I need to finish getting ready." 

Lexa rolled her eyes, jostling her shoulder against Luna's on the way out. She passed Miss Becca getting the younger kids settled with the sitter, but her mother was so focused on them she didn't notice, which meant she didn't try to stop her.

The Griffins, including Nana, were already in their driveway, ready to head out because there was no way Clarke would risk being late for such an important occasion. Lexa looked both ways before crossing the street, and her heart lifted a little when Clarke turned to look at her with a smile as bright as the sunlight caught in the golden strands of her hair. 

Their kiss was quick, almost chaste since they had an audience, but Clarke's hands lingering on her back and arms helped settle Lexa back into her own skin. "You look beautiful," Lexa said. 

"So do you," Clarke said, her eyes sliding up and down in an exaggerated once over. "I have very good taste." 

"Congratulations!" Nana said, breaking into their hug to claim one of her own. "I'm so proud of both of you." She looked around, like she'd just realized someone was missing. "Where's your sister?"

"Still getting ready," Lexa said. "You'll see her later, I'm sure."

"I'd better," Nana said. "I still can't believe you all wouldn't let us throw you a party." She shook her head. 

"I told you, we're celebrating at the Fourth of July party," Clarke said. "It's a lot of the same people, and that way it doesn't conflict with the million other parties happening so our friends can actually come." 

"Hmmph," Nana said, and nothing more. 

"Lexa!" Miss Becca called, waving from the driveway. "It's time to go!" 

"I'll see you there," Clarke said, catching her hand and squeezing it. 

Lexa nodded, and went to join her mother and sister in the minivan, double checking she had everything she needed before they pulled out of the driveway. 

The parking lot at the school was already packed when they got there, and Miss Becca ended up dropping them off in front of the building so they wouldn't be late before going to find a spot. Lexa looked around, but didn't spot Anya's car, or Anya herself, anywhere in the crowd. She'd promised she would come, and Lexa knew she wouldn't break it. It would just have been nice to get to see her beforehand. 

Inside it was chaos as the teachers tried to wrangle the students into lines, alphabetically by last name except for those who had been chosen to given speeches – Clarke among them. She'd tried to convince Lexa to do it, too, but Lexa had balked. What did she have to say that anyone would want to hear? So Lexa found her place at the end of the alphabet, directly behind Luna because there was no one between Waters and Woods in their class.

The processed in, and it mostly wasn't a disaster, except when someone stopped abruptly to wave to their parents and everyone behind them stumbled into the person in front of them. Luna's hand found Lexa's, and they held on to each other as they were found their seats. 

Within the first few minutes, Lexa tuned out. She tried to rouse herself when Clarke took the stage, but even her words were lost to the rushing in Lexa's ears. She smiled, though, knowing Clarke would be looking for her in the sea of faces, and clapped when she finished before knotting her fingers through Luna's again.

Finally, they started to call names, and one by one they crossed the stage, shaking hands and receiving their diplomas and moving the tassels on their caps from one side to the other to signify that they had finally, at long last, graduated. 

And then it was over. 

Except for the hugs and the photos and the fake smile she pasted on that made her cheeks ache and the string of parties they'd promised to make an appearance at that afternoon, it was over. 

It should have been one of the best days of her life. It seemed to be for everyone else. 

But in spite of everything, all the lists they'd made and the boxes they'd checked, to Lexa it just felt like a door had been slammed shut behind her, and she was stumbling in the dark searching for a window. 

And for next four years, she'd be doing it alone.


End file.
